


The Wishing Well

by aphelion_orion



Category: Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-
Genre: M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion_orion/pseuds/aphelion_orion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rai tries to obtain closure. [set between the main game and its epilogue]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wishing Well

The stones are smaller than he remembers.

Smaller and less perfect, hollows marring their shape, blots of brown and muted green speckling the dips. A rash of fungus peering around the back on one side, its flat protrusions fanning like lily pads. Tiny red beetles marching along the edge of one in a procession of living dots, stopping, waiting, swirling back in on themselves and continuing in the opposite direction.

There should be something there.

Something besides these observations, the feel of the wind sweeping strands of hair into his face, the mossy ground squelching beneath the heels of his boots.

Where to begin?

Where to begin, if there is nothing there?

The stones are real and physical; if he reached out, he could touch them, feel their structure and their age.

The flowers are lovely this year.

From his vantage point, he can see them, patches of yellow and white nodding in time with the breeze.

The flowers are lovely this year, and he can remember the tone of voice, the pitch that made him think of sitting in a warm spot, feeling the bumps of a tree bark scraping against his shoulders. Funny, how that tone is standing out in his mind, despite the fact that he was so preoccupied at the time, but not preoccupied enough not to hear, not to see that flash of a smile and the branch springing back, raining petals and pollen in their wake.

But there should be something else.

If he concentrates long enough, he can go beneath the surface, beneath the flowers and the wisps of grass, past the clumps of rock and earthworms, and think of the bones—picture them in detail, laid out in the dirt… but that's still not it.

People come here to accomplish things, after all.

He's not sure what the accomplishment is in his case. The journey, his partner would probably say, the coming here, except he doesn't know why that should be so.

It would imply that there is more, more than the stones and the things beneath, but it just won't come to him.

He wishes he could ask, perhaps of his partner or the world in general, where to find that something else, the language he's forever stumbling to translate. He knows a few cues, anger and jealousy and pride, but little more than that. He's starting to learn some, he thinks, but they're tied to the feel of a tongue smoothing his fur and the curve of a spine against his chest, to things like laughter and teasing and bright, flushed cheeks.

All new, and not part of this, here.

He must have known, once, if it's true that everyone is born the same, and forgot—not sure when, or how exactly, just that it happened somewhere along the line.

If things had been different, he thinks, he might know. If things had been different, there might be something left now, something like rage or the thing they call grief, maybe some words or a memory…

If things had been different.

Change the past for a price, a small price—just choose. Erase the present, by forgetting the tongue and the spine, the laughter and the teasing and the bright, flushed cheeks. Undo, remake.

An offer to make everything different.

And all of a sudden, the missing thing is there.

 _I wanted to._

\-----

"I wanted to."

The fingers pause at the sudden admission, before resuming their way along his tail, small, repetitive motions to straighten out the fur—digging in, dragging out, smoothing over.

It is much later, the crackling flames painting shadows in the dark. He chose not to stay, couldn't quite bring himself to, and his partner didn't ask any questions, just offering himself in lieu of words. If he were to look, he'd have to meet that gaze, curious, waiting for him to speak.

"When Leaks offered… for a moment, I wanted to."

Silence, as he knew there would be, but it hadn't felt right not to speak. To what ends, he isn't sure.

Selfishness. He didn't have a name to the concept for a long time, just doing whatever suited him—but that's what it is, isn't it. Forget the present to change the past. A small price for an easy way out.

"…Should I fault you now, for hesitating?" Konoe's voice is soft and thoughtful. The fingers let go of his tail, nestling into his palm. "Then… you're going to have to fault me, as well."

At his bewildered stare, the fingers burrow deeper, twining. "When he made me hurt all these people, and you… in the end, he asked me what I'd do if you became insane."

"Why would he—?"

"I don't know. I think he might've been trying to prove something. To me, to himself… I'm not sure. But when he asked me... a part of me wanted to run away, too."

Insanity. An inevitable fate, at the time. "That's—"

"Different? Why?"

Because. But 'because' is hardly a reason. Then again, that really is the crux of it, the thing it all comes back to. Reasons. Reasons to stay.

"…I never gave you a reason."

"You did."

"Oh, really."

"We all have our blind spots." A smile, warm and real. "Yours… is my reason."

-Fin-


End file.
